


Is this Your Number?

by Turtle_ier



Series: Turtle's MCYT AUs [17]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vegas, Bad Flirting, Card Games, First Meetings, Flirting, Las Vegas, M/M, Magic Tricks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-17 23:15:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28857207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Turtle_ier/pseuds/Turtle_ier
Summary: George is sitting at the bus stop, minding his own business, nine decks of cards and a six-metre string of handkerchiefs in a bag by his side, not to mention a man in a cat suit sitting on the other side of the bench. No big deal; stranger things have happened in Vegas.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: Turtle's MCYT AUs [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1875367
Comments: 4
Kudos: 91





	Is this Your Number?

He didn't know how he got here, or how the stranger on the bench got here either, but he was too afraid to ask.

It was a desperate notion, that he might be able to ask this stranger of all people who he was or what he was doing, because for the life of him, George didn't know. All he knew is that he really wished he had worn the more comfortable silk tie than the cheap but glittery sequin one, which always looked good out on the Vegas strip or at parties but gave him a rash around the neck every time he put it on. But he was there now, at the bus stop, and taking it off felt like it could be the removal of whatever identity he had here. The other guy didn't seem to have that problem.

He was obviously a performer of some kind, with a mixture of lycra, glitter and feathers (actually, it might have been fake fur) making up his costume, and he wore a simple looking baseball jacket over the top. There wasn't much room behind the stage at the best of times, let alone changing rooms for everyone, so it seemed the both of them came to a similar understanding when they turned up at the bus stop on the south-east side of Vegas. The guy had a bag between his legs, holding onto the strap at the top like it was going to run away on its own, but George turned his gaze away. His own bag of tricks was at his side, waiting for him to need a pack of cards (or nine), juggling hoops or a string of handkerchiefs. Something told him he couldn't just wave a wand and make the bus appear. At this rate he’d be too late to claim one of the good spots on the street. 

The other guy pulled his phone out of his pocket and sighed, and as George struggled to pull his vision away from him, he couldn't help but notice the blank screen. It was a good thing he wasn't a murderer or something, or this stranger might have been in trouble. The other man put his phone away and looked off in the direction the bus would be coming from. The 7-11 across the street had a flickering band around the outside of its sign, the orange periodically calling stop and go that no one paid any attention to, and other than George and this other person, the streets were practically empty. Occasionally cars went past, but no bus. 

His tie was really bothering him now, biting into his skin with each shift of his neck, and he could physically feel it nip him with every swallow. You tend not to notice your own swallowing unless something brings attention to it, and George could feel his mouth getting dryer with every second he thought about it. And now he was thinking about it, he couldn't stop. 

“Hey, uhm,” The stranger said, and George turned to glance at him, swallowing forgotten, “Do you know what time it is?”

George paused before he checked his watch, angling it so he could see which numbers the Mickey Mouse on the watch face was pointing to. He took a moment to read it, always struggling with analogue watches, but it was for his act. Magicians didn't wear digital watches, and after the last time it got stolen he was less willing to keep his phone somewhere obvious too. 

“Eight-forty,” he said, and swallowed. 

Something was pretty strong in the air, too strong to be weed from the apartments behind them but subtle enough for George to pay little attention to it. If it had been any stronger, his eyes might have watered. There weren’t any bugs though, and he found himself thankful. The problem with somewhere like Nevada, especially outside of the city, was that things crawled out of every nook and cranny. There was a specific street corner he no longer frequented after seeing it on a scorpion documentary. Don't ask him why he saw the show in the first place, but he didn't watch it again. 

“Ah,” the stranger said, “Okay. Thanks.”

“No problem.”

They sat together for a bit longer. The guy's costume looked uncomfortable too – skin tight in places and with fake fur in places, not feathers like he had previously assumed, not to mention the glitter on the chest and cuffs. It was a bit like a strange… wait.

“You…” George trailed off, but the guy was looking at him now, “You’re not doing that cat show, are you? At like,  _ Paradise _ or somewhere?”

Thankfully he just snorted, although George couldn't quite tell if he was insulted or pleased to be recognised. 

“Yeah, ‘ _ Cats’, _ ” he said, “Just missing hair, makeup and tail and I’ll be stage-ready.”

“And shoes?”

“Oh,” he looked down at them, “Yeah, I’ll need to take these off, too, I guess. What about you? Are you a magic man?”

George didn't correct his grammar, or pronunciation, or whatever it was. He was too done with sitting on a hard bench for a no-show bus to care for the little things, and he fidgeted with the end of his sequined tie as he answered the strangers question.

“Yeah just… by the book stuff. Wands, rabbits, doves. You know.”

“Know any card tricks?”

He smiled now, both him and the stranger, and George pulled a deck of cards from the inner pocket of his jacket. In the lightless bus stop it was hard to see what he was doing, but he shuffled them as best and as confidently as he could without needing to use his eyes, before fanning them out. He presented them to the stranger. 

“Pick a card. Any card.”

The stranger seemed to hesitate, but George just pushed the cards forward slightly more to convince him, and eventually the man put forward one gloved hand to take one. George reshuffled the deck slightly, not looking at it but instead at the stranger’s face. Contrasting the black and white outfit he wore (he must have been a tuxedo cat in the musical), the man himself was blonde, hardly visible in the darkness, and his nose was both long and straight. His eyes were fairly large, evenly spaced, and looking up at George through the eyelashes. He hoped his own suit didn't make him look too stuffy. It was hot that night, after all. 

“Okay,” he said when he had picked the card, “What now?”

“I can guess your card,” George said, hamming it up a little to see the man’s smirk, “I just need your name.”

“Why?”

“It’s in the stars,” George made a show of waving his hands on either side of his face, and the guy’s smile widened a bit more. George continued, “In your name, star sign and favourite colour, more precisely.”

“Any particular reason behind those three things?”

“Well, yeah, they’re the three essential tells about who you are!” George was putting it on now, leaning back on the bench and putting the hand holding the rest of his cards to his chest, “Your name is who your parents said you were, your star sign is what everyone else says you are, and your favourite colour is what  _ you _ say you are.”

“And what does that have to do with my card?”

“The card you pick isn't actually one  _ you _ pick, it actually chooses you. So if you got the queen of hearts, you might be quite harsh. Or if it’s the eight of spades, you’re crafty and a bit mischievous.”

A car went past as George said it, but the stranger seemed willing to put up with the act regardless. The air was dry, uncomfortably warm, and still smelling of that unknown thing, but the stranger still answered. 

“Dream.”

“That’s your name?”

“It’s what you’ll call me.”

“Okay Dream, I’m George. What’s your star sign?”

“Leo.”

Non-compatible with him, not that it counted since it was all bullshit anyway. 

“And your favourite colour?”

“Green.”

“Nice,” George said, shuffling the cards a bit more for something to do, “I can't see green, actually.”

“Oh? Why not?”

“Colour blind,” he pointed at his eyes, as if Dream thought it affected his toes or something instead, “Yeah. Uhm.”

George paused for a second, catching himself before he lost track of where he was going with this, and he looked Dream in the eye again. The man was looking at him, and to be fair, why wouldn't he be? George was acting, putting on a show for a man in a skin-tight catsuit, and he needed to keep his lone audience entertained. 

“Right,” he said, “I know your card.”

Dream raised an eyebrow at him, leaning back slightly with his hand still holding the card to his chest, as if George could see through both skin and fake fur to look at it. He seemed smug, as if George didn't know. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” George nodded, then added, “You see, I have this handy trick up my sleeve. I know what you’re thinking.”

“What am I thinking, Mr magician?”

George smiled at the nickname, looking off to the side at the flickering 7-11 sign, before coming back to himself and back to Dream. 

“You’re thinking about how I don't know your card, and about how it’s the ace of clubs.”

Dream moved his head back, his chin closer to his chest and staring at him. George just smiled, leaning against the plexiglass and raising an eyebrow as if to say ‘aren't I great?”, but he just stayed silent as he waited for Dream’s questions. But questions never came, and Dream just shook his head as he handed the card back to George, face down.

“Colour me impressed,” he said as George shuffled the card back into the deck, “So do you do street performances or stage ones?”

“A bit of both, but tonight I’m just busking.”

“How would you usually do it?”

“Place a bet. If I guess their card they give me five bucks, and if I don't then I pay them.”

“You make much off of it? Considering every card in that deck was the same?”

George paused with the cards in his hand, and he glanced up at Dream who was leaning back on the bench with a smile like he knew he’d just cornered him in one single sentence. He put the cards back into his inside pocket slowly, eyeing Dream with some mirth on his face as if the man was somehow able to read his mind. Dream just smiled innocently at him though, his mouth staying closed and telling George none of his secrets. 

“Okay, fine,” he asked, “How did you know?”

“You’re not the only busker on the strip.”

Dream said it as he turned to look up the road, and what do you know, a bus showed up. Not George’s, but the only other bus that was supposed to turn up at the stop, and Dream stood up from the bench and grabbed his bag from between his legs. The bus came to a stop with a squeal, and just before Dream stepped forward to get on, George spoke up.

“Will I see you around?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at the man when he turned around, “that’s not my only trick, you know.”

“It’s not my only trick either,” Dream said with a smile, “I’m pretty good at sleight of hand. Check your cards.”

Before George could ask about why he should check his cards, or ask for his number, Dream stepped into the light of the bus and paid for his ticket, before the bus’s doors closed behind him and moved away from the station. George watched the bus go, its orange and red tail lights disappearing among the sea of traffic further up the road, and he turned back to look to where his bus would be coming from. Nothing, and he slumped in his chair.

The pack of cards was still nestled in his inside pocket, but he let it sit there for a moment, thinking over what Dream hand meant. A car went past, then a taxi or something, and the smell from the apartments behind the bus stop was definitely getting stronger. He recognised it, had no idea what it was though, and he knew it meant something to do with the heat. Las Vegas was calling his name, waiting for him as he waited for the bus, and he hoped his magic managed to get him more than the ticket there and back. 

He pulled the deck from his jacket, flipping through ace after ace before he found what Dream meant by sleight of hand. 

A string of numbers that he hadn’t seen Dream write, along with a message. 

_ You’re not the only cat with a few neat tricks. Message me sometime? _

George blinked down at it, struggling to read the numbers in the darkness, but then he put it in the outer pocket of his coat, before slipping the rest of the deck into his inner pocket. Fifty-two of the same suit and number wouldn't be upset to see a single card go missing, and besides, it wasn't like he was going to be giving that one away. Not anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this! The strange smell is supposed to be something like citronella, which was what this fic was going to be called, but it no longer fit when I had finished this piece.
> 
> If you enjoyed this, please let me know! I'm working on getting a few smaller things out of my drafts while I plan and work on a bigger project, not to mention university work, so there might be a few more coming in the weeks before march. Comments and kudos really help me out :) 
> 
> As always, please respect creators boundaries by not sending them this fic, and I will do the same in the event that they no longer want fanfiction or fan works. If it is ever declared incorrect to write shipping fics by the creators themselves this work will be deleted. Under no circumstance am I trying to insult or hurt anyone here.
> 
> Find me on Tumblr: @turtle-ier  
> Find me on Twitter: @Turtle_ier


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